


The Oldest Sins

by twined



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2nd person POV, Angst, F/M, Reader Insert, Very slight bdsm, Virgin!Lucifer, dom!Lucifer, imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twined/pseuds/twined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You laughed in his face, in disbelief. After all, how was it possible that Satan, your greatest enemy, the source of all sin and suffering, the prince of liars, the embodiment of temptation--was a virgin? And why tell you of all people? How could that much physicality, that gorgeous vessel, the intense glare he was giving you now--oh. You gulped. (Written for tumblr prompt, reader-insert)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dirty Supernatural Imagines Prompt from Tumblr: Imagine Lucifer is a virgin and wants you to be his first. 
> 
> May become a multi-chapter if other Lucifer imagines spark my muse? And if anyone is interested? As always, thank you for the support!

"Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,   
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit   
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?"

- _Shakespeare, Henry IV **  
**_

\--

You weren’t even really surprised when the devil appeared in your room.

You hardly looked away from the show you were watching, despite the sweat on your neck and the pounding of your heart. Your pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Satan,” you acknowledged.

“Hello, darling,” he drawled, flicking his wrist to turn off the television and sliding towards you on the bed.

“What are you doing in my room?”

“What does a couple usually do in a room at night?”

“We aren’t a couple.”

He faked a hurt expression and you rolled out of bed, turning your back on Lucifer to go for the mini-fridge. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. If you could kill him, _he’d_ be dead. Being at that impasse, you might as well offer him a beer.

He accepted.

“You’ve tried the kidnap-and-torture routine with me before,” you reminded, “Do we really have to go through all that again?”

“I have no intention of torturing you,” he said. You noticed the screaming omission of the word “kidnap.”

“Right, well, I’m not interested in spending my Wednesday night chilling with Satan, and I’m sure you have important evil schemes to work on, so please feel free to go.”

Instead of leaving, he spread his arms across the headboard and crossed his legs. “Nah,” he said, popping the bottle cap off with his teeth.

“Is this about those demons in Iowa? Because that totally wasn’t me.”

He raised both eyebrows. “And that’s not suspicious at all. No, it’s not about the demons.”

You plopped on the corner of the bed farthest from him and gestured, _then what?_

“You know, I haven’t walked the Earth since the Fall?”

“I thought that was kind of the point of the Cage.”

“I’d hardly seen living humans since the era of Adam and Eve, and now there’s billions of you. You went a little overboard when Dad said ‘go and be fruitful.’ Now his utopia is just overcome with all of your…respirating.”

He smiled, but apparently you didn’t get the joke.

“Your vessel’s looking better,” you commented, cocking your head, “Did you have to kill someone for that?”

“Several someones.” This time, his smile dripped such sin that it was hard to mistake the source of his joy. “It won’t last, though.” At that, he frowned again. “Alas.”

“Ah, yes, my heart aches for you. Tragic, that you’re faced with a slight roadblock in murdering my entire species.”

“We all have our crosses to bear.”

His deadpan, straight-faced response was nearly a challenge: who would crack first?

“Comparing yourself to Jesus? Really?” you finally choked, and then you were both laughing hysterically.

You could admit that you were a little fucked up, but laughs were too few and far between in this life. Your expected lifespan was short enough already that joking around and enjoying yourself often came before basic survival instincts. Basic survival instincts including _not_ being attracted to Lucifer’s vessel, which was suddenly and conspicuously absent of wounds and lesions.

“Alright, alright, I have a terrible confession to make,” he said once you were both breathing again.

What could Lucifer confess that _he_ found bad? This would be one for the records. You awaited his words with excitement, until finally he declared:

“I don’t want to kill you.”

You choked on your beer.

This was no mere liquid-out-the-nose embarrassment; no, this was oh-fuck-I’m-going-to-die panic as you tried to cough the alcohol out of your windpipe. The more you coughed the more it stung, and the more it stung the harder it was to cough, and the harder it was to cough was the longer you went without air. You ran to sputter into the sink, mildly disappointed in losing half a craft beer to one of Lucy’s jokes.

Indeed, when you turned around, he rolled his entire head along with his eyes, and drew out the three syllables: “Nevermind.”

“Yeah, thought so.” Your voice creaked. He handed over his own beer, which you swigged.

“Saved by the devil,” he said with a small smile.

“Touched by an angel.”

He snorted. “Yes, first Jesus and now a Lifetime rerun.”

“You know, if you have nothing else going for you, at least you get pop culture references.”

“I have been blamed for MTV.”

You shared another laugh, and settled a little more comfortably on the bed, this time.

“Do you know how angels are born?” his face was suddenly devoid of all jokes.

“No, actually. When a mommy angel and a daddy angel really love each other?”

“We don’t do anything as crass as…mating. God formed us individually. We’re each made to his divine specifications, answerable to only one parent. When he stopped making angels to focus on animals…that stung. And humans, who were not only the farthest thing from divine, but could deny Dad’s very existence? And he did nothing to prove them wrong? Infuriating.”

“Oh.” You really had no idea how to respond to that.

“We are a finite species. Some tried to solve this by taking human vessels, creating the nephilim.  I couldn’t stomach the thought of touching a human, much less creating a bastard chimera and defiling my father’s work. Then I was locked in the Cage. Left to rot, only corrupted human souls as company.”

You couldn’t exactly say you were sorry, but you were definitely curious.

“This man, Nick,” Lucifer gestured up and down his body, “Is my first vessel in millions of years. Pure angels don’t have the same biological needs that humans do. We don’t have to eat or shit or fuck. That’s technically true when we’re in a vessel, as well, but that doesn’t mean the body doesn’t have its urges.”

You fought down the realization bubbling to the surface of your mind, because that was just too ridiculous. _No way._

Being you, the thought flew out your mouth anyways. “Are you telling me you’re horny?”

Lucifer made a face at you, but didn’t deny it.

“Holy shit, you seriously showed up at my hotel room in the middle of the night to tell me you’re horny?”

“Humanity’s flair for language continuously amazes me.”

“But… wait. Does that mean you’re a virgin?”

“That’s the human word for it, yes.”

Your nervous laughter sparked and wouldn’t stop. Yet another bad habit. But what else could you do? Lucifer himself was chaste and apparently asking you to defile him? Would nothing ever be normal again? _Freaking apocalypse._

He glared. “I’m about to chain you up and spank you.”

“Oh, you kinky son of a bitch. Normally virgins start with the more vanilla stuff.” You tried really hard not to giggle, because getting murdered was not on your to-do list, but it proved impossible. Then, you realized that you’d lost your virginity before the freaking Devil, and if only the pinch-faced lady at church had known that—

“Are you done yet?” he snapped.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just hard to believe. I mean, I guess it makes sense. You hate us and all. But you’re the one people talk about when they’re calling sex a sin.”

“Darlin’, people nowadays don’t understand much about sin,” he drawled, “Sin is wishing ill on Dad’s creations. Sin is the intention to cause harm, or to put oneself above others. They _say_ my sin was pride. Lust was more Lilith’s gig.”

“ _They_ say? What do you say?”

“I wanted to protect my family. I didn’t want Dad distracted by his shiny new toys; I wanted Heaven back the way it was, when we were enough.”

You winced microscopically. It was a feeling you could empathize with, even if your own hurt feelings hadn’t led to attempted genocide.

“Now I want other things.” His voice dropped, became a quiet, rough whisper. You met his eyes and were captured by their dark intensity. When you didn’t respond, he leaned towards you. His eyes alternated between your own and your lips. Cupping your face, he inched closer, his breath heavy and his eyes full of questions.

His mouth was warm. Softer and wetter than you would’ve imagined. The slightest touch of his lips left you breathless. The hint of his tongue forced out a keening moan, which seemed to please him. All at once he pulled you closer, until you were straddling him, until he was devouring you. Already his heat and hardness featured prominently against your thigh.

You weren’t thinking clearly enough to do anything but obey when he growled, “Close your eyes.”

A moment of vertigo, and you were somewhere else. A cream-colored bed hidden among trees. For a moment you pulled away from Lucifer in amazement. Though overgrown, the place was beautiful. Unrecognizable flowers sprouted up between an intricate lattice of roots and grass. You rose from the hidden alcove to see more, finding yourself surrounded by birds, a stream, and more plants. Trees and flowers and shrubs and grass. Ferns and cedars and moss. Songs from a source you couldn’t find, and a perfect, filtered sunlight caressing you.

“Where are we?”

“Eden.”

You finally turned back to the archangel. “Seriously?”

He shrugged. “I do all my best sinning here.”

“Luce?”

“Yes?”

“Are those your wings?” You gestured behind him to his shadow, which overtook much more ground than it ought to. He grumbled something in annoyance, and his shadow righted itself.

“This place is somewhere between Heaven and Earth. It’s harder to contain my true form.”

“Don’t.”

He gaped. It was an adorable look on him.

“Don’t hide them. I’d like to see them. If that’s okay.”

Good lord, was the devil actually blushing?

Nonetheless, he flung his shirt off, closed his eyes, and unfurled his wings.

In direct light they might’ve blinded you. In this dappled little glade, they shone like a sun setting over the ocean. His long flight feathers looked tarnished—even tattered in some places—but he was no less beautiful for it. More than any Renaissance artist could have imagined.

His eyes were still shut tight when you reached to touch his face, mirroring his actions from earlier.

“This is far more vulnerable than you humans consider nudity to be.”

“I’m honored,” you said, reaching to trace along the pattern of feathers. He hissed lightly before snapping his fingers. Suddenly, you were naked and trying to cover yourself.

“We’ve even now.”

“You ass.”

“Isn’t this kind of the point?” he angled you back towards the tree.

“How would you know?”

“You’re right. Perhaps you should show me.”

You were backing up in time with his predatory steps, not realizing how far you’d danced until your legs hit the bed.

“This isn’t what I’d imagine from the Devil,” you whispered.

“You forget we’re all about consent, darlin’.” His voice was equally low, but you seemed to feel its vibrations down to your core. “And unlike some of my brothers and sisters, I prefer seduction to coercion.”

With that, his lips reached yours. You melted into him with a groan, twisting around so he would land first. You straddled him again, rutting more furiously, unable to take your time. His roughness, nails and teeth digging sharply, belied the near-shyness with which he explored you. Lucifer seemed to take one body part at a time—first your back, then your hips, up your belly to your breasts—and start with tentative strokes before he could meet your passion with his normal cockiness. The contrast made your head spin.

You finally had to pull back with a gasp, trying to breathe, and his hand fisted in your hair and held you close. His vessel’s heart thundered beneath your hand. You leaned down to nibble at the spot just below his ear.

The sound he made reminded you that the lover in your arms was the furthest thing from human.

You made sure to leave a love-bite on your fallen angel’s neck, and he made sure it didn’t instantly heal.

That truth shocked you suddenly—a part of Lucifer was _yours_ now. That heady power, and his half-crazed eyes, stole the last of your conscious thought. You took his face in both hands, kissed him thoroughly, and maneuvered the two of you into a horizontal position, you on bottom to leave room for his wings.

You made sure to lock his gaze and catch his attention before saying, “Here’s my consent. I need you. Now, please.”

He didn’t make you wait.

No, on the contrary, he slammed to the hilt before your next breath, his head buried against your neck as you both adjusted. Your squirming let him know to move again.

The pace was slow at first, experimental again. He shifted your hips back and forth, trying different angles and pressures. You wrapped your legs around him, scooting down until finally he could rub at that spot on the front of your walls.

Once he saw your expression, all hesitation stopped. He snapped into you, wings flared, mouth tight. You raked your nails down his arm and keened. He faltered, slowing just a bit, and the crest growing in your belly dropped.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

You took his hand and sucked his thumb into your mouth. His surprised gasp made you smile around the digit, and with a few more wet licks you guided his hand down to your joined bodies and showed him what to do with your clit.

After that, well—your joints shook and your mouth tried to form his name but you were pretty sure you were just babbling, and moaning, and maybe screaming, and he alternated the strokes of his cock and those of his thumb, and everything in you tightened and narrowed and—

Your vision went white.

A moment more on that glorious precipice, and you came.

You clawed his hand from between your legs, too much, so much. All sensation and heat. Everything. You could feel everything.

Or so you thought, until he covered your eyes and shouted. The bright light let you know his true form shone out. The heat let you know he joined you in orgasm.

You weren’t sure how long the perfection lasted. When your eyes opened again, Lucifer was on his back beside you, wings tucked away. He seemed to know the second you came to awareness again, because his eyes opened and he turned towards you.

You didn’t speak, merely curled against his body and let your breath slow again.

There were _so_ many things wrong with this situation.

“I’m still going to try to stop you,” you declared, but there wasn’t much strength left to give to your voice.

“I’ll still keep going.”

“We’ll probably kill each other.”

“Assuming no one else gets to it first.”

There wasn’t any malice in the conversation, maybe a tired resignation. You wanted to fight—you wanted to yell that _he_ was the one who’d fought to end his father’s plan, so why just go along with this stupid angelic prophecy? Why do what his brother said they had to? You wanted to make him comprehend the horrors he’d committed. Feel the despair of every victim. You wanted to be cutting his head off while you had the opportunity to see if that worked. And you wanted, deep in your twisting heart you wanted never to have to do that. You wanted to go back before the moment when you’d seen something—for lack of a better word—human in him.

“ _Why did you come to me?”_ Your choked accusation held all of that hurt and confusion and anger. Was it just to make it that much harder for you to kill him? A manipulation?

His face was schooled to impassivity when he looked down at you.

“You think loudly.”

“You bastard.”

“You know, I think I do fit the classical definition…”

You hit him. It started with a fist pounding his chest, then escalated, scratching, punching. You’d probably only hurt yourself, but it didn’t matter. He lay quietly, contemplatively. And finally, he responded with the one thing that could really hurt you in that moment.

He reached slowly, silently, and put his hand to your forehead, sending you back to that dingy hotel room. Alone.

You refused to cry. You did not shed a single tear for the devil.

 


	2. Love's Best Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several weeks have passed without word. Mutual confusion ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on two further SPN Imagines: "Imagine Lucifer being possessive and marking you in places everyone can see," and "Imagine Lucifer fucking you into the wall while the boys are in the other room." Plan right now is to respond to another 3 imagines in another 3 chapters... we'll see how that goes.
> 
> Light D/s themes added here on out.

When my love swears that she is made of truth,

I do believe her, though I know she lies...

Oh, love’s best habit is in seeming trust,

And age in love loves not to have years told.

    Therefore I lie with her and she with me,

    And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

 - _Shakespeare, Sonnet 138_

\--

You heard nothing for weeks.

There was the usual apocalypse bullshit, of course—demons here, Horsemen there, curses abounding, yada yada. We’re all going to die. _Breaking news!_

But as for the one thing really on your mind—that was just stewing. No one had heard anything but conspicuous silence on the subject of the Devil.

Trying to ignore your memories of Lucifer just worsened the distraction. Berating yourself was a never-ending spiral. Subtly researching Angel-Human sex wasn’t really a possibility, and though the curiosity consumed you, you would not reveal this secret. Not to anyone. None of this obsessing brought you any closer to ending the end of the world, either. You tried to throw your energy into the important things and forget the recent past.

Results were mixed. You alternated between a complete zen and abject panic.

Which was probably the point of him approaching you with… that. Throwing you off your game. Marching across the country, charging to battlefields on your Harley, you stewed.

You happened into a pleasant suburban town at the same time as the Winchesters—something generally to be avoided, being a surefire omen of death. However, you’d collaborated with them before, and knew them to be capable hunters. According to the news, you could use the backup. After a tense round of surprise-faking FBI camaraderie, you swapped “ _other,_ other” cell numbers and shacked up at the same dingy motel.

Not in the same room, of course. Even if they _weren’t_ two men raised into questionable hygienic habits, no amount of money would be worth their bickering. Two hours chasing crime scenes and already you wanted to smash their heads together.

The Winchester Omen fulfilled itself all too quickly, though, and after that you may as well have split the room. Research kept you all up together for several late nights. The worst part was that you couldn’t even figure out what was killing people. Some evil sonofabitch that acted a little like a ghoul and a little like a werewolf, maybe a minor deity, but you were all still lost after four murders. All of you hit the books hardcore, even Dean—although he insisted on a constant source of pie and beer as “fortification.”

Fortification or no, you struck out. Nada. Zilch. Cas wasn’t answering, Bobby had no idea, the Harvelles were busy putting out other fires, and nothing online or in the local libraries pointed to an answer. The locals weren’t acting creepy or giving any clues. If it weren’t for the superhuman strength and apparent transportation abilities evidenced by the violence, you’d chalk up the missing body parts to a serial killer and move on.

In all, the exhaustion and frustration had you in a mood. You needed to work out or ride your motorcycle or take a long, scorching shower. Or beat something bloody. Or read your favorite Byron. All of the above.

Instead, you picked up another book.

Bleary-eyed, you forced yourself through a chapter of local Native American mythology. At the end of the chapter, you realized you couldn’t remember a single word. Unwilling to admit defeat, you flipped back and began underlining important points, despite Sam’s “ _that is a library book how dare you”_ glare.

The phone call came as dawn broke.

You donned your monkey suits and arrived at the crime scene shortly after forensics.

This one’s heart was definitely gone, although it was pretty hard to tell if you weren’t looking, because the rest of him was in…several parts.

You searched for anything and everything. EMF. Strange rituals. Sulfur. Potential cultists. You and Sam had to pose as a couple to get into said cultists’ house, but there was nothing supernatural-strange, just questionable-taste-in-orgy-partners strange. Not a damn clue to be found.

After that experience, and one too many acidy cups of gas station coffee, you _definitely_ needed a shower. You banned the boys from even thinking about entering your motel room, applied the usual salt lines, and disrobed.

This was one of those be-all-end-all-heavenly-choirs showers. You had all the toiletries—oils, soaps, conditioners—new razors—a loofa—even one of those pumice board exfoliation thingies. At least one layer of skin came off with all the grime. It was glorious.

You were drying off in the mirror and examining your tired, blackened eyes when you mumbled, “Someday I’ll get my friggin’ beauty sleep. Friggin’ monsters.”

You were too tired and terrified to even swear when Lucifer appeared in the mirror, merely spinning and throwing a punch. He blocked it effortlessly, and you dropped it looking more than a bit sheepish.

“You could just ask for help, you know.”

“Right. Yeah. Ask _you_ for help. Go away, Satan.”

“Sorry, no can do.”

“And why the hell would that be?”

“Stop dreaming about me.”

You sputtered. “What?”

Leaning down and opening his eyes wide, he repeated, “Stop. Dreaming. About me.”

Denying it was probably pointless, so you went another route. “I don’t think you understand how dreams work.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Humans can’t control their dreams. It’s just…this thing that… happens. If I could just turn off my dreaming, I would—believe you me I have enough nightmares, but our brains do what they want. We don’t even really know why.”

“Do you go your _entire_ little existences without any idea why you bother? Why _do_ you bother?” He twirled while throwing his hands in the air.

 _Drama queen._ That’s what you get for trying to explain humanity to Lucifer.

You could barely summon up the energy for a proper, “Screw you.”

“Again, so soon?” Although he faced the door, you could _hear_ his eye-roll.

You closed your eyes and started counting. Inhale, 1, 2, 3, hold, 1, 2, 3, 4, exhale, 1, 2, 3. You weren’t sure how many times you did this, but when you opened your eyes he was facing you again, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

_How many times could you reasonably get away with attacking the Devil?_

You’d save this one for a time when you had a weapon and weren’t, you know, naked.

“Don’t bother with modesty on my account,” he drawled while you rooted around for your pajamas. Your glare was powerless to stop his smirking. You seriously wished, throughout getting dressed, that he’d picked a better time to bug you.

“Get the hell out before I start drawing wards.”

“Touchy.”

The knife you’d snuck from your bag drew a thin line of blood before Lucifer knocked it away, pinning you to the wall.

“I think you forget who I am,” he growled.

“I did, for an hour or two. Not anymore.”

The rage in his eyes flared, his hands suddenly turning ice-cold as the temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees. Then all at once, it stopped, and he stepped back.

“It’s a Kanontsistonties, by the way,” he said.

“A what now?”

“Kanontsistonties. The thing you’re hunting. Ugly creatures, once human of course.”

“You’re telling me this…why?”

He shrugged with that little smirk again. “My altruistic nature.”

“How do I kill it?”

“Nope, that’s the only hint I’m giving you. Where’s the fun otherwise?”

You groaned and headed for your flip-flops, real clothes or no. “Whatever. This just means I’ve got more research to do. See ya.”

You preemptively dodged his attempt to grab your arm this time, but he just appeared in front of you instead, head cocked.

“Really? Running to the Winchesters while I’m next door? What do you plan to tell them, exactly?”

Your face went white—you could feel the blood draining away, but managed a weak, “What are you talking about, there’s no one else—”

“Save it. I saw you today, you know. On the arm of my Vessel. Smiling. Syrupy. The kiss.”

He didn’t even seem aware of the temperature fluctuation in the room, so caught up in his sneering, but your nipples hardened with the sudden chill. You crossed your arms. 

“Imagine. I hadn’t even been following you. Just actively ignoring your nocturnal fantasies. I hear rumors of my Vessel lurking in this town, and I show up only to see his arm around you, walking out of a houseful of sex.”

 _“His name_ is Sam.”

“His name is _immaterial!”_ Lucifer shouted, and despite all your willpower you stepped backwards. He walked towards you, dancing just as you had in Eden’s glade. His arms ended up over your head, effectively trapping you against the wall.

Not a speck of your bodies touched, but barely a breath separated you—just enough to feel the electricity. He leaned down again, growling against your lips: “You are mine.”

You could feel it in your entire body when he reached, slowly, to trace a finger down your neck. That one touch eclipsed the entirety of some of your other sexual encounters. He watched his finger intently, before flicking up to your own eyes. You recognized those unspoken questions. They’d seduced you before.

You shoved away.

“People are dying. I need to figure out how to kill this—cannon-sist-ant-ees. Hunter, and all. It’s my job.”

You tried to walk away and, unsurprisingly, ended up against the wall again.

“Out of every human in existence, I took you as my lover. You don’t want to believe it could have been anything more than a ruse, but it’s not because you don’t trust me, is it? It’s because you don’t want to.”

“Go back to hell. You are literally the most untrustworthy being in the universe, and I don’t want you here.”

“We both know that’s not entirely true.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll help you kill it for a kiss.”

It took a moment to catch up with the shift in conversation. “…Kill the cannon thing?”

“Kanontsistonties,” he said, with a small nod. You were close enough to taste his exhales on your inhales. You cocked your head in the way you found so infuriating when directed at you, letting your tongue rove behind one cheek and looking considerate.

“Deal with the Devil… hmm, no thanks.”

“This one’s a steal. One deep, hot, thorough kiss. You won’t be able to get the weapon you need on your own.”

“Why don’t you tell me what it is, and let me decide.”

“That’ll cost you another kiss.”

Before he could react, or you could second-guess yourself, you darted up to peck the corner of his mouth. “There.” _Bluff called._

 _A_ nnoyance and amusement battled on his face. “Sneaky girl.”

“Deal or no deal?”

He sighed. “Fair enough, you _did_ manage to pull that one on me.. _._ Kanontsistonties are the possessed skulls of damned cannibals, sewn up with cursed bats and still hungry for human flesh. They fly, they’re small, and almost unstoppable. You need to get it to eat a Mayan Hearthstone.”

“Mayan Hearthstone. Like a brick from an old fireplace?”

His expression tipped in favor of annoyance.

“How am I supposed to make that appetizing to the flesh-eating bat-ghostie?”

“Come up with something.”

“Fine. I’ll call someone who can scour ruins for us. Thanks for the completely-unsolicited-advice.”

Luce grabbed your jaw before you could so much as look away, sighing and rolling his eyes.

“If you run to the Winchesters now, I will kill them both. Slowly. If you call Castiel, I will kill him, too, and anyone else you can think of.”

His voice was neither a cutting sneer nor a dramatic whisper. It held no obvious malice. He spoke of murder as you might speak of buying groceries, or accidentally stepping on an ant. That was somehow more terrifying than any kind of intimidation.

“I need 10,000% honesty right now.”

He raised an eyebrow at the demand, but you ignored your own screaming survival instincts and continued, “Why did you come to me?”

Lucifer’s blue gaze dropped from yours, his face stony. His heat was more than enough to distract you, but without the weight of his eyes you could focus. Enough to prod, anyways.

“You said you don’t want to kill me. Is that true?”

“It is,” he nearly snarled.

“Why?”

“Stupid human. You just have to look the gift horse in the mouth, don’t you?”

That told you less than nothing. “…What does that saying even _mean_?”

His face blanked, staring, then his eyes sparked in comprehension and he chortled. At your frown, he giggled (giggled!). With your glare, his head dropped to your shoulder and he laughed whole-heartedly.

“What’s so funny?”

“I guess humans don’t give away horses much anymore.”

“I’ve never _seen_ a horse.”

His laughter redoubled. You tried to shove his chest, but he didn’t even have the good will to notice.

You couldn’t help the quirk of your lips. He looked—free. His laughter spread to you, and soon you were clutching each other and hysterically trying to breathe. Cracks grew through the tension between you two, until it shattered.

“I still don’t know what’s funny,” you gasped, and then it all started over.

Mid-laugh, his mouth found yours again. At your gasp, he slipped his tongue to the edge of your lips. His intoxicating taste and possessive touches felt _right._ Not bad-in-a-good-way or I-really-shouldn’t-enjoy-this-but-I-do, just—good. Plain good. While you could ignore that in dreams, you could not ignore the archangel right in front of you, doing that thing with his teeth.

You tilted to deepen the kiss, and his groan spurred you to crush yourself further against him. He responded by lifting you against the wall, hips and hands pinning you tight against him. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist. The movement opened up friction between your cores. Which he exploited. Extensively.

You could feel your cognitive functions melting, and ripped your mouth away.

“Tell me why.” You didn’t cease touching him, running your hands over his shoulders, his scalp. But you couldn’t do this without knowing.

“When my Vessel touched you, I wanted to kill him. He, my only hope for a sustained existence on this plane. Simply for kissing you as part of an act.”

“That doesn’t say—”

“I’m not finished,” he snapped, although he began leaving shivery kisses up and down your neck before speaking again.

His eventual response didn’t really illuminate anything, though.

“Your existence is not unnecessary.”

You waited a beat.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He glared.

“Well?”

“Humans are at best, an unnecessary annoyance, at worst, deserving of obliteration. You are among the more annoying.” He kissed you to silence your retort. “But not an annoyance, and I don’t know why that is. I want to find out. Which I can’t do if you’re dead.”

Those goosebump-causing little nibbles returned to your neck, punctuated with the lightest of momentary licks. Close as you were, he had to feel the tremble he elicited.

“And after Eden…I find this fascination… heightened. I do not enjoy the thought of another touching you.”

“But—”

You squealed as he bit your neck tendon, hard. “No more talking,” he growled, and you hastily agreed as he bucked into you.

He soothed the bite with his tongue, then repeated the process a bit higher up. “I find myself distracted by you,” he growled, but he swallowed your reply with his mouth. All you managed was a moan of agreement. “This feeling frustrates me.” He bit your tongue. “It makes me wish to claim some mastery over you.”

“I thought there was no more talking?”

“Hush, girl.” He clicked his tongue, and you were both naked down to your underwear. The skin-to-skin contact alone was enough to enflame you—much less his hands and mouth moving all over you, every inch of you pulsing against every inch of him. Anchored between Lucifer and the wall, he became the entire world.

 _The wall between your room and the Winchester’s,_ you remembered. Well, this was going to get awkward. Eventually. Tomorrow. _Fuck it._

Clawing his back, grasping everywhere you could manage, keening, you murmured his name. Murmured, whimpered, gasped. He continued exploring every inch of your neck.

“Stoppit, you’re leaving marks,” you groaned after a harsh suckle.

“That’s the point.”

“What? No! How am I supposed to explain them?”

“After I make you scream tonight, they’ll speak for themselves. Mine.” Another bite. “Mine.”

A stripe licked, and a nip to the ear.

“Mine.”

You swallowed the sigh in your throat, but couldn’t hide the hot rush of wetness he caused. You felt his smirk against your shoulder, letting you know that he felt his effect through the thin cloth.

Your feet, still wrapped around his waist, fought to remove his boxers. You managed to pull the backside down, but they snagged on his hard cock, which he was unwilling to stop pressing into you even for a moment.

Lucifer leaned back, holding you up only with his hips in order to tear your panties apart. The scrap of fabric fell uselessly and his hands returned to support your bottom. The kneading of his fingers and tongue stoked the heat begging for release between your legs.

“There will be no walking away from this,” he warned.

“I’ve dreamt of you for three weeks now. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

“As you wish.”

Inside you he was no hesitation and all brutal, dominating pace. You couldn’t help the gasp of surprise becoming a long, loud moan. This position ground his muscles against your clit, and rubbed your insides with dizzying intensity. You knew exactly where his wings sprouted, now, and massaged his back just where they would have begun. He groaned.

Heaven forgive you, but you’d sacrifice your soul for those noises.

“Ahg… don’t think so loudly, or I’ll…”

You kissed instead of replying. He groaned again, a calculated move. You could feel his smirk, and might have wanted to smack him, if he weren’t riding you into the wall. Hips grinding. Mouth sucking. You’d be one long bruise tomorrow, and this annoyed and seriously turned you on at the same time.

In this position, you couldn’t do much but scream for him. So you did. In abundance. Lucifer bit your tongue and sucked it into his mouth. Surely he could feel you cresting, it was all that there was, only this, fuck—

\--And he stopped moving, cradling himself deep inside you and staying so still you could feel his cock twitch.

“Luce!”

He began anew, slowly, implacably, unstoppably hot. Your vision faded white, your entire body tight as a bowstring.

He stopped again.

Your dismayed and confused wail articulated how you couldn’t understand, how all rationality was gone, how need clawed at you and _why couldn’t he just give you relief?_  

“Tease.” You spat it like a curse, but with too much keening breathiness to really cut.

“Oh? Would you like to come?”

 _Yesss. Please. Please, Luce! “_ Sometime this century,” you ground out.

“Human time flows so strangely. I might miss my window.”

He gave you three strong thrusts before settling again. The wall digging into your back, the gaudy lamp—your senses were too much, too sharp. The arousal neared painful sensitivity.

“All of your orgasms are mine.” A thrust, a whimper. “Say it.”

“All yours Luce. My whole body. Everything. You. Belongs to you.”

The rhythm began again, slow once more but steady enough to soothe your crying body.  

“Again.”

“Yours!”

He sped up, increasing the delicious friction when you agreed.

“Again, pet.”

“Yours. All yours.”

As your babbling increased, so did his harsh pace. Your senses narrowed again. All that sensitivity focused at your conjoined bodies. You could hear only faintly, although sheer physical awareness told you that cries ripped out your throat and that you slammed into the wall hard enough to shake it.

Neither touch nor sound shoved you over the precipice, however. In the end, it was the inhuman grin—sin and glee and male satisfaction, absolute confidence, ancient power—splitting his face that made you come undone.

Before your wits returned, he sucked hard at the junction of your shoulder, and you felt him spill inside of you. His own heat joining yours, leaking across your bodies, sent a final jolt of pleasure through you before the languid satisfaction set in.

Lucifer’s stiff backwards steps and near-collapse putting you both onto the bed suggested a similar satisfaction in him. You grazed his cheek with your fingers, still disbelieving this entire situation.

That stilled him, his eyes instantly open and staring you down. Neither of you moved. Unfortunately, as the human in this couple you eventually had to breathe. For some reason, at that, he closed his eyes again and leaned into the touch. The nuzzle reminded you of a cat. His acceptance spurred a stupid joy you couldn’t fight down, and you grinned as you stroked his hair and he curled around you.

This time, you embraced this bad idea wholeheartedly.

\--

You brought breakfast over in the morning, humming.

“Someone’s chipper,” Sam said, his voice still sleep-scratchy and eyes half open.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Dean’s leer told you that he had a very good idea why.

“Shut up, or I _will_ eat every bite of these hash browns on my own.”

He conceded, and you all settled in to eat.

“Good news, by the way. I remembered this old Mayan legend last night. Something spurred my memory, and I did a bit of research just before breakfast. I think I know what we’re hunting, and I think I found the weapon we’ll need at this little junk store…”


End file.
